Crossing The Line
by Septemberrains8
Summary: She is his teacher, he is her student. And tonight he is committing the unthinkable. RLMM
1. The Night Before

Warning! This fic is rated 'R' for a reason. It contains a teacher-student relationship as well as sexual situations so if you are at all uncomfortable please hit the 'back' button now.

I don't know why I wrote this except perhaps because there's no 'R' rated Remus/Minerva fics anywhere (please correct me if I'm wrong). I don't usually write student/teacher stuff and this isn't intended to be squicky. I might continue it or I might leave it as a one shot – I haven't decided yet.

Usual disclaimers apply. This is Young!Minerva fic like everything else I write so don't flame me to tell me she's old. She's not old in my world. Call it AU, call it whatever you like but this is how I interpreted the books.

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Crossing The Line

It's late.

He should be in bed but his three best friends have been teasing him because he won't admit who it is he fancies. He doesn't dare admit it. He knows they'd tease him a hell of a lot more if they knew the truth. So instead he shrugged off their questions and tried to concentrate on his homework… until it got too much and he had to walk away. Now he's skulking along the corridors like a lost soul, hardly caring if Filch catches him. 

He hears her giggling from the landing below. He doesn't know it's her, of course. Not because he wouldn't recognise the sound of her voice but because he's never heard her giggling before. Nobody has. She is strict, sensible, stern. Behind her back they half-heartedly insult her but to her face there is only respect. She does not giggle.

So he assumes it's one of his fellow students. For a moment he debates ignoring the noise, taking a different route to avoid her. He knows all the secrets of the castle: hidden staircases, invisible doors. Staying hidden is no problem to him. Didn't he help write the Marauder's Map? For a moment he wishes he'd brought it with him – then he could check to see whose laughter it is that he hears floating up from the darkness below. But he's a final year student and a prefect. Duty wins out and he turns back towards the staircase.

When he sees who it is he stops abruptly. She's dropped her spectacles on the floor and can't seem to pick them up. She's leaning over, her fingers tracing the rug at her feet in search of the familiar square frames that usually perch on her nose. Her hair is half out of it's once-neat bun and now falls lopsidedly over her shoulder. And she's giggling.

"Professor?"

She jerks up, startled then blinks hazily at him a few times.

"Lupin?" she says slowly. 

"Here." 

He reaches for her glasses, hands them over awkwardly. But all of a sudden her fingers seem to have turned to jelly. She drops them again and her face turns red with embarassment.

"Could you...? I mean, would you...?"

"Of course." 

This time he leans towards her, guiding the arms of the spectacles over her ears until they're back in their usual position. He's embarrassed to be this near to her. He's worried she'll notice how aroused he is at being closer to her than he's ever been before. It's one thing to watch her from behind a desk six feet away. It's quite another to be so near he could just as easily be kissing her. He needs to leave now or he'll never be able to look at her again.

But as he turns she calls him back.

"Remus?"

He risks a look at her and she dissolves into giggles again. 

"Remus, I can't find my room!" she whispers loudly.

She leans against the wall, clutching her side, still laughing. It occurs to him in that moment that she's drunk. Very drunk. But still in the early stages of drinking where everything seems amusing and the nausea hasn't hit yet.

And he knows where her rooms are. He and Padfoot went to find her once when Peter was ill. 

"I'll show you," he tells her. "Come on."

But she doesn't move. Exasperated he grabs her hand and pulls it until she starts to follow him.

"I think I've had too much to drink," she confides conspiratorially as he leads her along the corridor.

"You think so?" he says dryly.

And he feels a sudden rush of affection for her. How many times have he, Padfoot, Prongs and Wormtail sneaked out to Hogsmeade for bottles of butterbeer and then got themselves drunk in the common room? At least they have each other to help them out. She has nobody. There isn't a single member of staff here who isn't at least a dozen years older than her. 

She must be lonely.

For some reason that thought makes his heart flip. He concentrates on the carpet, the portraits on the walls – anything not to think about it. Not to get his hopes up. He will take her to her door and then go back to Gryffindor Tower and that will be the end of it. He doubts she'll even remember this tomorrow. But he knows he'll never forget.

She follows him quietly along the passageway and up another flight of stairs until at last they reach the entrance to her suite.

"Thank you," she says fervently. "Promise you won't tell?"

"I promise."

She smiles gratefully at him and reaches out for his hand which she grasps firmly.

"Thank you," she says again.

She's so close to him he can feel the warmth of her breath against his neck. He can smell her: the delicate fragrance of her perfume overlaid by the scent of alcohol. Her cheeks are flushed.

Something inside him snaps. This isn't fair. He's an adolescent male and he's wanted her since she walked into his transfiguration class on the very first day of term. He can't confide his feelings to his friends because they'd never understand. He can't doodle her initials on his exercise books or offer to help her with her homework. His desire for her is hopeless and yet he knows it will never be fulfilled. How can he possibly resist her now when she's stood in front of him like this, showing a side of her personality he's never been privileged to see before?

He closes the gap between them and presses his lips gently against hers.

To his immense surprise she responds. She kisses him back. He hears her moan softly into his mouth and as her lips part he takes advantage of it and deepens the kiss. This is wrong, he knows that. If she was sober he'd have been on his way back to his dormitory with a week of detentions and a very sore cheek by now. She is his teacher. She doesn't know what she's doing and he's taking advantage and this is so very wrong. 

But when she releases his hand and circles her arms around his waist he knows he cannot stop.

She staggers slightly and he puts his hands tentatively on her shoulders to steady her. He's waiting for her to realise what's going on and push him away. 

But instead she's pulling him closer, exploring every inch of his mouth with her tongue. Her hands roam up and down his back until they find their way under the hem of his shirt and she gasps as she feels his bare skin.

"Oh Remus…"

She giggles again, then falls heavily into his embrace, almost knocking him off his feet with her unexpected weight.

"Promise you won't tell…" she whispers in his ear.

At least she knows who he is.

Her back is against the door now and she fumbles for the handle. Finally the door is open and she's leading him inside. 

This is his last chance to turn away. 

This is where he really crosses the line. 

He follows her through her living room. Her bedroom lies beyond, through a door on the left. She stops once to kiss him again but then leads him through. 

Her four poster bed is covered with an emerald bedspread. He doesn't want to think about the implications of what he knows they're about to do so he kisses her again. Tentatively he lifts his hands to her breasts. He's never done this before but he listened carefully when the other boys were talking in the common room. He's eighteen, a year older than the rest of his peers because it was only when Dumbledore got the Headmaster's position that he was permitted to come to Hogwarts. Still, he's less experienced than any of his friends. But he listened carefully, read the magazines that they hid under their beds and now he thinks and hopes he'll get this right. This is his chance: his chance to show her how much he loves her and how much she means to him. This his chance to win her over. Tomorrow doesn't matter: there's only tonight. There's only her.

Her cheeks are flushed as he claims her mouth with his and she's no longer laughing. Instead she fumbles with the buttons of his shirt until at last it's undone and she can push it over his shoulders and down his arm. She kisses his neck, his shoulder. She guides his hands to the zip of her dress and waits expectantly.

He doesn't disappoint her. A moment later her dress is in a heap around her ankles and she stands before him in simple white underwear that does more for him than anything black or red or lacy ever could. She's tugging at his trousers as he pushes her back towards the bed, all the time urging him onwards in her gentle Scottish lilt. This is a different voice from the one he hears in class: softer but yet more urgent, more desperate. 

They tumble together onto the bedspread in a tangle of limbs and half discarded clothing. 

"Please," she whispers. "I need you…"

He wants to believe it. He wants to believe that she needs _him_: not the sex but _him_ because she loves him, because she knows he loves her. Because they belong together and it's not his fault that the timing was wrong and that she came to Hogwarts to be his teacher a year before he was old enough to leave and be an adult. She can't be that much older than him. He remembers her as a prefect, giving James and Sirius detention when once she caught them teasing Snape. He barely noticed her then. He was just a kid. He's not a kid now but no one will ever see that as long as he's a student. He's old enough to leave school and marry her but that's not the point.

Tonight, however, he doesn't feel like a student. Tonight he feels like a man.

She's naked beneath him, her skin smooth and creamy. Her hair is fanned across the pillow, her skin flushed with heat. This is not his teacher. This is not the woman who stands behind a desk and lectures him on reverse transformation spells. And he is not the errant pupil in detention yet again for disrupting her class. 

He wants to touch every inch of her body, to explore this land so alien and yet so familiar. His instincts and her cries guide him as he moves over her. His skin tingles as he presses against her. These sensations are new to him. He's never so much as kissed a girl until tonight. 

She pushes him over and rolls on top of him. Does she know how inexperienced he is? Is she sober enough to even care? She smiles and whispers his name then kisses him. 

And then he feels her. Hot. Tight. Wet. Before he can help himself he's thrusting up against her. He hears her calling him, urging him onwards, and he silences her with a kiss. She meets him, arching over him as he drives into her, her tongue duelling with his, her hips bucking against him. Until he can hold back no longer and explodes unstoppably into her, over and over until at last he's spent.

She pulls him close and he rests his head on her breast as he tries to catch his breath.

Tomorrow there's going to be hell to pay because he's crossed the line and things can never go back to how they were.

But tonight there's only her.


	2. The Morning After

It's early.

Her head aches from the alcohol and the daylight hurts her eyes. She stumbles awkwardly to the bathroom, wondering why she's naked, wondering why her clothes are scattered across the floor, knowing there can be only one reason and wondering why she can't remember it. She tries to drink some water but it makes her stomach heave and before she can move she's sick. 

It must have been Marius, she tells herself. He's made his feelings for her perfectly plain since she started teaching. She was on her way to the library last night when he invited her in for a drink. She accepted only out of politeness, not wanting to give him the wrong idea. He opened a bottle of wine and poured her a large glass despite her protests. She's never been much of a drinker. Does he know that? The alcohol probably went straight to her head and that's why she got carried away.

But if it was Marius then why isn't he still here?

She can't think about this now. She has lessons to teach. She needs to pull herself together and get dressed. She'll see him this evening, sort it all out. 

When she gets downstairs breakfast is almost over. She sips tea slowly, clinging to the warm cup like a lifeline. 

Dimly she registers Albus asking if she's all right and she shrugs off his concern as nonchalantly as she can manage. 

Her first class is the final year Transfiguration NEWT group and she does her best to concentrate as they practice complex transformation spells on the lizards she's provided them with, striding between the desks with words of encouragement for some and sharp rebukes for others. Eventually the lesson is over and she dismisses the class. The room is filled with noisy chatter as they gather their things. 

Only one boy doesn't move.

He mutters an excuse to his friends and they shrug their shoulders and depart until at last everyone is gone and he's sitting alone.

He won't meet her eyes. Instead he hangs his head and stares hard at his desk as though all the secrets of the world are etched into its wooden surface. What little she can see of his normally pale face is vivid scarlet.

And then she realises.

"It was you," she whispers. 

In that moment her world seems to fall apart around her. She's committed one of the worst sins a teacher can commit: she's slept with a student. And worse: she was so drunk she can't even remember what it was she said or did that lured an innocent young boy into her bed. 

"Oh sweet Merlin…"

She buries her head in her hands.

"I'm sorry," he says, the first words he's spoken. When she looks up at him there's tears in his eyes. She knows it's all over, that she has destroyed all her dreams of teaching and ruined her career over one foolish mistake. She will be sacked in disgrace, the staff whispering, the students sniggering as she packs her belongings and leaves. How could she have been so stupid?

She feels his hand cover hers and reflexively she leaps backward. 

"Mr Lupin," she says, unwilling to meet his gaze. "You should be talking to the Headmaster. He can help you make a formal complaint."

"I don't want to make a formal complaint."

"Then what do you want?" she says a little too sharply.

"N-nothing," he stammers, shocked at the tone in her voice. "I mean… I'm sorry you're upset. But I'm not sorry that I… that I kissed you. And I'm not sorry that we made love."

She stares at him.

"Made _love_? Is that what you think it was?"

He blushes but meets her gaze defiantly. 

"That's what it was to me."

There's a sudden commotion outside the door and she glances across to see her next class milling around in the corridor, impatient at the delay, peering curiously through the window to see what's going on.

"We need to talk about this," she says. She gets to her feet, gathers her robes around her like a protective charm. Carefully she tidies the books and parchments on her desk as if making order there will restore the order that she once had in her life.

"After dinner?" he suggests.

"Your friends?"

"I'll tell them you caught me wandering about last night and gave me detention."

She nods briskly.

"Fine. My rooms. We won't be disturbed there."

As soon as the words are out of her mouth she regrets the implication that they carry. It's a bad choice: her office would have been better, or even a classroom. But it's said and she can't take it back. She senses something about him change. But she's too busy struggling to hold onto what remains of her professionalism to worry about what it means and she ignores him as, finally, he collects his possessions and leaves.

She stumbles through the rest of the morning in a daze, hardly able to focus on what she's teaching. By lunchtime Albus has sent her to the hospital wing. His fatherly concern makes her feel even worse about what she's done. She's let him down just as she's let her parents down and everyone else who ever believed in her. How will he change when he discovers the awful truth? Will he be forgiving? Or will he turn his back on her, ashamed and disgusted? 

The nurse thinks it's flu and gives her a potion that makes her drowsy. She falls asleep in the hospital wing – a deep, thankfully dreamless sleep – and doesn't wake until the sun has long since set and the ward is bathed in peaceful darkness. 

When she gets upstairs he's waiting outside for her, slouching unhappily against the wall. She opens the door and motions him inside.

"Quickly," she hisses. "What if someone sees you?"

She still hasn't decided what to do. Seeing him stood in her living room unsettles her even more. It's her personal space, her sanctuary. Or at least it was. Now it's the scene of her crime.

She sighs and sinks heavily into an armchair. 

"Professor?" he says uncertainly. "Are you all right?"

"No. I am not all right."

"Why not?"

"Because it's wrong, that's why!" 

"I'm eighteen. I could leave school now and marry you."

"Don't be ridiculous," she snaps, even though she can hear the conviction in his voice.

"I would for you. To be with you."

And when she sees the expression on his face she believes him.

She's always been attracted to him, though she hardly dares admit it, even to herself. He is the reason she brushed Marius aside so quickly. His quiet intellect was the first thing that caught her attention. He was forever attentive, keenly asking questions even when his friends poked fun at him for it. His interest gratified her, made her feel more confident in her new role. And then she began to notice the other things: the sadness buried deep in his slate grey eyes, his

His lycanthropy could so easily have turned him bitter and resentful; instead he was considerate and generous. 

She feels her resolve crumbling uncontrollably. She wants him to lean towards her. She wants him to kiss her. 

She wants to lose herself in him until it all goes away.

Even though it's wrong.

"I'm old enough to know what I want," he says quietly. "But if you don't want me then just say and I'll go. I won't tell anyone what happened and everything will go back the way it was."

She looks up and sees him stood there. He looks lost, worried, more alone than he's ever been before in his life. She's been so wrapped up in her own feelings she hasn't bothered to think about him. But he is brave enough to be honest with her, and to want her to be honest with him. Does he really care about her that much?

She goes over to him and embraces him. 

"Oh, Remus," she whispers. "I'm so sorry."

He holds her tightly. 

"Don't be sorry," he tells her. "Life is too short for that."

She closes her eyes, inhaling the scent of his hair. She's remembering it now: his eager kisses, his hands shaking slightly as they caressed her bare skin. They've already broken the rules, they've already done the unthinkable. What difference will it make if they do it again? Already she can feel her skin tingling with arousal. Already she's reluctant to let him go.

She releases him from her embrace and with one hand gently sweeps his hair back off his face. The palm of her hand grazes his cheekbone. It's a gesture that would have been almost motherly had it not been for the heat between them. He watches her earnestly, waiting for some indication of how she feels, of what she's going to do. 

"Professor-"

"Sssh."

She presses her index finger against his lips and waits until he falls silent. Then she makes her mind up at last. 

"Minerva," she says. "My name is Minerva."

"Minerva…"

He tests the name like an unfamiliar spell, balancing it carefully on his tongue to ensure he's got it right. Then he smiles and she kisses him, all restraint gone, her hands running feverishly, almost desperately over his body. He meets her with matching hunger.

For the second night in a row they discard their clothing breathlessly across the floor. This time he needs no encouragement and he lifts her easily onto her bed. When she looks up at him she sees the shame and the worry has vanished from his gaze. He stares at her in wonder. His eagerness astounds her. She's never met a man who treated her like this before, like she's delicate and fragile and special. She's never met a man who delighted in touching her and she lies back and lets him explore her with hands and mouth until he finds the very centre of her pleasure and she's writhing and moaning beneath him. 

And then he's inside her and on top of her and all around her, calling her name as he drives her over the edge. Seconds later he follows and they collapse together into a sweaty, tangled embrace.

And she thinks: _how can this possibly be wrong?_

Later they lie together on her bed. Her detentions normally take several hours at least; she knows they've got time. In his arms she feels safe, secure…_ loved_. She pulls the bedspread over them as protection against the evening chill. Then she rests her head on his chest and hears his heart still beating fast under his pale skin.

"What if you regret this?" she asks.

"I will never, ever regret this."

There is no trace of doubt in his voice, no room for argument.

They talk about his childhood, about her childhood. His parents loved him dearly but he felt suffocated and was glad when finally he could escape to Hogwarts. He wants to teach like her but he thinks his lycanthropy will make it impossible. The last of the twilight drains away and night unfolds its velvet blanket across the sky. They make love once more and then reluctantly she rouses him and he gets up, gathers his clothes and starts to dress, smoothing his rumpled brown hair with a quick splash of water. 

She pulls on her tartan dressing gown and stops him at the door.

"What will you tell them?"

He grins.

"I'll tell them you had me practising for my N.E.W.T. for three hours solid. I'll tell them you told me I should be concentrating on my studies instead of wandering the school at night."

She smiles, reaches her arms out for one last embrace.

"I'll see you soon," she promises. "We'll sort something out but we have to be careful."

He nods.

"Goodnight," he whispers.

And then she's alone once more.


End file.
